Sleeping Love, Waking Death
by Heather Giesbrecht
Summary: Gently, she brushed a hair from Thomas's face being careful not to wake him. He was so still, so tired, he needed to sleep. One day her little brother would work himself to death on that contraption. Thomas/Lucille. Complete.


**Sleeping Love, Waking Death**

Lucille blinked at Thomas in confusion. Why was he sat so still in the chair ? Why was he covered in so much clay ? It was only splashed across his cheek, but his chest was covered in a great pool of it. The pool was darker, thicker, in some areas. Unconsciously, she looked down at herself, to see that her clothing was utterly drenched as were her hands. A knife, what was she doing with a knife ? Why was it wet ? Normal clay did not drip like that o-only...had she...could she have ? No ! No, that was not possible. She would never hurt Thomas, never !

"Thomas ! Thomas !" When had she fallen on the floor ? She didn't remember falling. Desperate, nervous, she flung the knife away and crawled over to him. Tentatively, she put a hand on Thomas's knee to shake him awake, "Thomas, Thomas ? Little brother, wake up."

Those pretty, dark blue eyes refused to open and he did not stir in any other way. Was he upset with her ? He landed heavily in her lap as she pulled him down. A small laugh left her lips as she realized he wasn't upset. No, not upset with her, but utterly asleep, dead to the world even when she gently brushed a stray hair from his face.

Something, the elevator she distantly corrected herself, whirred to a stop before Edith wondered loudly, "L-Lucille ?"

Annoyance crawled into her veins like the ants over that butterfly in the New York park. "Ssh ! Do you want to wake Thomas up ? He needs his sleep, what with working on that mining contraption of his all the time. We cannot move him without waking him. Finlay can take Thomas to his bedroom."

Edith raised a hand to her lips, "I'm sorry. I...you're right Lucille, he needs it, but do you not remember ? Thomas sent Finlay to get his medicine. Dr. McMichael is still here if you want to talk to him."

"Doctor ? Why would Thomas need a doctor ?"

The American moved to slowly stand beside her whispering, "Dr. McMichael thinks that...that Thomas has consumption."

Tears immediately flooded her vision, she gathered Thomas to her, laying his head against her breast. She stroked his hair, murmuring, "It is no wonder then why he sleeps so soundly, coughing this much blood must be tiring." Realization struck her then, "N-no, he cannot. He cannot leave me, what am I to do without him ? H-he swore that he wouldn't leave me alone ! This is not fair !"

Edith crouched, her cornflower blue eyes brimming with an equal amount of tears. "I-I think he will be fine here, Lucille. Shall we go down to wait with Doctor McMichael for Finlay to arrive ?"

Carefully, she laid Thomas down then got into the elevator with the smaller woman. Minutes later, as they entered the parlour a man with dark blond hair stood there.

Non-proprietary though it was, Lucille was worried about her brother and demanded, "Where is Finlay ? If he took the wagon he should be back by now !"

Dr. McMichael let a puzzled look slide across his face, "Fin-"

A soft cough from the blond interrupted the doctor. "My apologies, I forgot you hadn't been here so long as I. Finlay is the man who went to get Thomas's laudanum."

"Oh, you mean that man ? He said it was too important to waste time trying to hitch that horse to the wagon and started walking to the village."

Finlay walk all that way by himself ? The old man would never make it to Harding Poole alive. "How could he be so foolish ? Thomas will be overwrought if that barmy old man dies. Finlay, Finlay !" The last she called as she rushed to open the entrance hall's door. No tracks were visible in the clay drenched snow as she made her way outside onto the stone landing.

Before she could shout even once more the doctor was pulling her back inside. "Your Ladyship, I do not think Thomas would like for Mr. Finlay to die and his sister to become sick in the same day."

It was then that she realized she was cold, that Thomas had been too. Blast the house for being so damnably cold every single day. Now that she thought of it, it was a surprise that Thomas had not gotten sick sooner. With that thought of her brother she started toward the elevator not realizing that she was also dragging the doctor with her.

Dr. McMichael barked, "Lady Sharpe ! Where are you going ?"

She stumbled, stopped and half-turned to look at him, "I need to tell Thomas that Finlay is likely dead."

Stood beside the elevator, Edith broke in, "Lucille, you don't have to exert yourself. I can go tell Thomas about Finlay."

Anger swarmed Lucille's mind like a horde of her Fulginis tinea, her soot moths, when disturbed. "No, you mind your place ! You have barely known Finlay two weeks, I have known him near my entire life. If anyone has the right to tell Thomas of Finlay it is me ! I am his sister, not you !"

Dr. McMichael, again, "If you must insist on getting incensed then I will ask Edith to find something with which to restrain you."

"Lucille what if we leave a note for Thomas, put on a few more layers and try to find Finlay ourselves ?"

Reluctantly, she agreed with Edith's assessment. She would rather they find Finlay alive than dead, if only for Thomas's sake. While she had never cared for any of the servants Finlay had treated herself and Thomas like Papa and Mama should have. Finlay hadn't whipped her or beat her like Papa had, Finlay hadn't smacked and screamed at her like Mama had. Much as she hated to admit it the old servant had been nearly as important in her life as Thomas.

A few minutes passed as she grabbed her toque, overcoat, muffler and mittens from the library, while Edith went to write and dispense Thomas's note. When they had regrouped they went outside. As they walked she anxiously scanned the sides of the path for signs of disturbance, she found none. That was when she found the ground suddenly rushing up to meet her. Her senses were curiously dulled as she opened her eyes.

Someone stood over her, he was tall as Thomas but far more rotund. For some reason the man's hazel eyes shone with pity, "I am relieved to see you awake, mi'lady, I am Dr. Hereford. Doctor McMichael said I'm to take you to London."

Lucille's eyebrows furrowed, "London ? What of my brother is he coming with us as well ?"

Dr. Hereford folded his hands behind his back. "No, Lady Lucille, I am afraid Sir Thomas will not be joining us."

Her gaze traveled about a small adjoining oak-paneled room of the pub known as the Red Hand, they were still in Harding Poole. "Why ever not ?"

"He is no longer...physically able to make the journey."

In an instant fear and misery gripped her, she had traveled back home alone, yes, but going to London alone was a far different thing. London was so much bigger than Harding Poole or even White Haven, so easy to get lost in or trapped. What if Thomas died and she was in London ? Edith didn't know Thomas's funeral arrangements. Three days it took for them to reach London as she kept asking Dr. Hereford to send a telegram about Thomas' condition to Edith. Every day after that in the small white room she kept at it. The pure anxiety and terror when Dr. Hereford would walk in with that morning's telegram it never abated until he said that Thomas still lived. Most of the time it was Edith who replied, but, so rarely, it was Thomas and she savoured those.

One day as she lay reading on the bed a strange cold pain lanced through her stomach and back. It was not like a pregnancy pain, it was a far more vicious, twisting pain like something with razor-sharp teeth was pulling and tearing on her intestines. Like something was gorging itself on her life while she curled up in agony, wishing that Thomas could hold her, tell her it would stop soon. A second seemed a minute, a minute an hour etc. until it stopped instantaneously.

Out of breath, weak, she managed to roll and face the wall. In two different sections pressed between wall and bed were the answering telegrams. Her fingers trembled, fumbled, their way towards his section. The telegrams were the only thing that his touch truly lingered on. According to the latest of them, Thomas had gone back to the bountiful warmth of Italy. How she wished she were there with him among the mountains and the Parnassius apollo. Wished there were soft lips on hers, those strong arms cradling her as he spent himself.

Guilt wracked her when she remembered their little girl, something she'd done had made her little Charlotte malformed. Anger followed when she remembered how the Italian, not only an heiress but a trained nurse, hadn't been able to save Charlotte. Thomas hadn't called her that, he had hardly called Charlotte anything, but he had eventually grown to love her. He had even made Charlotte one or two new toys to go along with the ones they already had. Then as unexpectedly as their little girl had appeared in their lives she was dead. To remember her little girl forever she had carefully plucked out Charlotte's eyes to put them in their own little formaldehyde jar in her room. After Charlotte had died she'd finished poisoning the Italian in revenge.

Dr. Hereford entered her room then with Edith in tow only to leave them seconds later. Edith who was obviously with child sat down on her bed. The girl fiddled with a loose piece of her hair before saying, "Lucille, please do not get angry, but I-I know that you had a child once. I was, well...wondering what it, what the birthing, felt like."

Lucille thought for a moment only to laugh before answering. "It was painful obviously, and I bled a lot, which rather helpfully caused Thomas to faint, but it was worth it to...to see her. So, who is he ?"

The younger woman became painful in her obtuseness. "Who is whom ?"

She lay her hand atop Edith's and tsked, "Come now, Edith, you do not have to tell me. You are making it obvious that he is important to you just by talking to me."

Edith suddenly burst into tears, body wracking sobs as she buried her face in her knees. For a long while the little woman cried before she sniffled, saying hoarsely, "H-he died a few months ago, he was...murdered, actually."

A familiar wild panic and aching pain filled her at the thought of losing Thomas, it would be too much. Not only was Thomas her brother, he was her sanity, her friend, the father of her child, the only person who had never hurt her. Shaken, she reached out to stroke the golden hair, "I am sorry, child. Even if you want no one else to know you must tell Thomas. You have told him haven't you ?"

"I've not, I'm scared, Lucille-"

Gently, she lifted Edith's chin, "Ssh, you do not have to be. Thomas, you should see him, he absolutely adores children."

With a weak smile the smaller woman said, "Thank you, Lucille. I should go, but it was nice talking to you."

"Of course, you are welcome to talk of such things with me. After all, what do Thomas or Dr. McMichael know about the birthing process that I have not personally experienced ?" The door closed with a soft click before she was alone again.

That night she had an awful nightmare about getting angry at Thomas. Angry enough t-that she slammed Papa's old hunting knife into his chest, deeply enough to rupture major organs. The spray of blood hot on her face when it took her time to wrench the blade free. Unimaginable pain on his face as she did it a second time. His face turning even bloodier as she thrust the knife into his cheek not stopping until the hilt ground on bone. Thomas's sorrowful whisper, "Oh, sister, you killed me." Dark blue eyes still filled with disbelief and betrayal as he...died, it woke her.

Soon as she opened her eyes a keening wail forced its way from her throat. Thomas was dead because of her. Yes, at that very moment she had hated Thomas, but it was not his fault that she had gotten jealous. It was her own, but how had it happened ? The urge to kill had always been there, but she had never gone into a blind rage before and certainly never at him. Wait, wait, that voice in her mind ! God damn that voice it had told her to hate Thomas, to kill him for betraying her and s-she had listened.

Oh Thomas, poor beautiful trusting Thomas. She had sworn to protect him from the pain, sworn never to let them be separated by anyone ever. Yet, look at what she had done. She tore at her hair, threw herself at the wall, door, bed, anything to distract herself from the burning twisting agony that filled her body. It was Thomas punishing her for her hypocrisy, her betrayal. This horrid pain, was this what the...what Pamela, Margaret and Enola had suffered through ? What their families had gone through ? Surely, it must be the same. It was all because she had refused to let Allerdale Hall, let their past, go. It was not worth losing Thomas just to keep a decaying house that held far more horrors than joys. Perhaps if she did what Thomas had wanted to do - to leave the horrid things behind and sell Allerdale Hall or burn it to the ground, something, anything, then everyone could be at peace.

Her legs refused to hold her and she collapsed covered in drying blood and sweat, her face stained by tears as she trembled. Her throat was too tight, she couldn't even sob aloud the words, "Oh God, I am so sorry, Thomas, Enola, Margaret, Pamela. H-had I only known I never would have started this. Thomas, I wish you were here."

Golden light appeared in the room, no, it wasn't light, except it was and it was Thomas too. He was clean, whole, except for the once terrific wounds she had given him. Once because now that light flowed from them gently flaring and twisting around him like silk ribbons in the softest of breezes.

Dear, dear, Thomas smiled down at her. "I'm glad you were finally able to realize what I did. Did you know that Charlotte wanted to see you ?"

"She did ? Why did you not let her then ?"

Thomas crouched down to run a hand over her cheek, she shivered as he/the silk/the light touched her. "It is simple, dear sister, I told her to wait until we could be together again, even if it takes seventy years."

There was an odd warmth to the touch and she didn't know what it was. It was so lovely though. Love, that was what it was. Real unconditional love whereas what she'd called love depended on Thomas's compliance and her own manipulation of him.

Edith had never manipulated Thomas, the woman had truly loved him...Edith was having Thomas's child. Would the babe have his eyes, his hair, his smile maybe ? If she were allowed she would make sure the little darling had the childhood that herself and Thomas never had.

Lucille smiled as she replied, "I think I can wait that long."

As it turned out little Carter Thomas McMichael had Edith's hair, Thomas's eyes, her smile and his dimples. Call it a former mother's intuition, but she just knew Carter McMichael would be a heart-breaker.


End file.
